Tag Archives: introspective

Technicolor Hearts

it’s about to begin
soak in this spectrum
of light and sound
I sprayed my love
across your walls
in technicolor

pay no mind
to twisted faces
grinning smiles
their hollow eyes
looking, staring
right through

they’re monsters
locked away
stashed secretly
deep within
deep down
free them now

one thousand tiny
stinging paper cuts
from love letters
I couldn’t bear
to seal and send
piling ever higher

I’m so afraid
the messenger bird
shot out of the sky
a cloud of feathers
heavier than the sun
I can’t bear to witness
I can’t bear to be

I sprayed my love
across your white walls
in the technicolor
of my bleeding heart
it’s just as you imagined

The Mistrust of Head and Heart

Making sense of what you’ve said
With the thoughts already on my mind
Well, darlin’ don’t look down
Cos it’s too far for you to fall

Count the hours and face your fears
Oscillate and get nowhere fast
Well darlin’ don’t look now
They’ll be coming through the door

I’ve been thinking about your
… love and what I’ll do
You’re hanging over me
Storm clouds and loggerheads

You get me down, so I get high
And I’ve been hanging out for days
Sitting in your haunted grounds
With the apparition of your love

Three days ago on that beach we combed
I was digging up the harder days
Well darlin’, I might have known
You’d been tearing up all the photographs

Lost sight of what love really was
When I set sail for higher ground
In a few days I’ll find my way around
It just takes some time to move on

Like Him

Down at the station,
a young boy writes with a pen.
Taking out his frustration,
again and again.
He’s writing furiously,
and looking so grim.
I wonder what he’ll be,
knowing I was just like him.

Seaside

Am I awake?
Or have I been sleeping?
I found myself on the seaside
Gasping for air and running
Through the sand, as if
Lead weights were tied
Around my ankles.

Are you here?
Or do I just wish you were?
I found myself floating out
Among buoys and waves
Part of the flotsam, as if
I were the shipwreck
With no survivors.

Is this real?
Or just my imagination?
I found myself on a park bench,
Arm in arm with a lover
In the foreground, as if
We were being painted
And hung on the wall.

Are you packed?
Could I beg you stay?
I found myself in a hotel room,
Heart forced into a suitcase,
My soul left sitting there,
On the dresser, for the
Next occupant to use.

Am I awake?
Or have I been sleeping?
I found myself on the seaside,
Staring up at the stars,
In a moment that would last,
If only you would let it,
If only you would stay.

Strange Night

To the girl I left there sleeping, I haven’t much to say
I threw on my overcoat, dragged myself into the day
The rain comes down from clouds that hang above
While pouring out what used to be our love
And your face ripples in every puddle I step over
While thinking back to that grassy knoll east of Dover
Back to those days when we didn’t even have to try
As brick buildings rise cold against the graying sky
To the days when you were the canary to my coal miner
I’m sat over a cup of coffee at the far end of a lonely diner
Served an overcooked breakfast and day old newspapers
Tales of the good times and bad and adventurous capers
All of those stories that we’ve been subjected to before
And all the while I’m contemplating a knock at your door
Because I left my heart at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey
While my mind was lost and my soul had sailed out to sea
Just a matter of time before this ersatz smile begins to crack
While my mind can do nothing but keep reverting back
To that strange night I spent in a stranger’s bed
And how I woke up beside her with you in my head

Renaissance

Paint me a picture of your life,
Are you using warm colors or cool?
Broad or fine, delicate strokes?

Is your landscape an open field,
With wildflowers and and tall grass,
Gently swaying in the cool breeze?

Or is it in an industrial zone,
Where cogs and gears are grinding,
Singing a song of mass production?

Perhaps you’re lost in a cityscape,
Of arching skyscrapers, park benches,
Filled with the bustle of commerce.

Are you out on a bright, sunny day?
In your favorite yellow sundress,
Toes dug into some sandy beach.

Walking on the promenade at night,
City lights reflecting off the placid bay,
Stars burning brilliantly above.

Paint me a picture of your life,
Are you with those you hold close?
Or alone, but comfortably so?

Smiling in the arms of your lover,
While you walk a quiet lakeside mile,
Is this the picture you would paint?

There are those with a blank canvas,
Contemplating where to begin again,
The first brush stroke setting the tone.

I myself am staring at an untouched work,
Having framed the past neatly on the wall,
A reminder of all that I had one been.

It’s time for a new creative direction,
The first brush stroke to be a statement,
Of my own personal renaissance.

Running

She’s spent her entire life running,
from something that’s bigger than she,
and with every passing empty glass
she burrows herself a little deeper.

Now talking aloud to no one at all,
counting the seconds moving forward,
as she flips over the hourglass,
they slide back down in reverse.

With hope that she won’t be noticed
however, it is only a matter of time
before the wandering eye makes contact
and pulls her back into the fray.

A wall of protest before she finally acquiesces,
fading into the cacophony of sound and lights,
dancing like an electric eel through the coral,
along the ocean floor.

Floating high with shapeless cotton clouds,
a soft blanket wrapping up her fears,
but the inconvenience of gravity,
will pull her back to earth again.

She rises with the bloom of a young spring,
and fades in the blight of a cold winter,
running from those she’ll never see,
but feels them all around her.